


evil bastard man does his morning routine

by LonesomeDreamer



Series: the adventures of an evil eye bastard and his lonely sea captain husband [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Spoilers for Season Four, anyways jonah is a pretentious little bastard, i guess i write a lot of that lmao, it's meant to be funny and just a little bit dumb asdkfjd, this is absolutely a crackfic, this is probably wildly ooc but it's the first tma fic i ever wrote, this takes place in both the 1800s and the present day which, with the world's biggest ego
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:20:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonesomeDreamer/pseuds/LonesomeDreamer
Summary: Jonah Magnus has never been one to neglect himself. Sometimes, though, he doesn't think.
Series: the adventures of an evil eye bastard and his lonely sea captain husband [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664716
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	evil bastard man does his morning routine

“Ngk…”

A head of tousled brunet curls popped up amidst a sea of fluffy pillows and Egyptian cotton sheets, followed by a pale face and a pair of equally pale hands. Two bright blue eyes opened wide before immediately squinting.

“Gods, that’s bright…”

Jonah rubbed at his eyes, yawning rather loudly before stretching and flopping back against the pillows with a quiet sigh. He felt rather against the thought of getting out of bed, as it was cozy and warm, but he eventually rose with marked reluctance.

Long limbs appeared from beneath the covers; standing fully and stretching in his pajamas, he seemed quite handsomely made as a whole. A few short steps brought him into his dressing-room, where he began to ready himself for the day ahead. Although the process was long, he took quite an extended amount of time with it—this was not laziness, but rather a deep-seated desire to present the perfect image to the rest of the world.

The dressing-room itself was quite lovely in appearance, not at all reflecting the future state of the heart of its owner. The walls were decorated with a light blue paper, with a few choice prints and paintings hung; a few pegs lined part of the wall, while a wardrobe took up much of the remaining space that the dressing-bureau did not take up. From the drawers of the wardrobe, Jonah pulled a pair of trousers and socks. The garments were held up to the light as steely blue eyes inspected them; the items were soon approved, however, and he began to put them on. In naught but these he selected several items from the drawer of his bureau and taking his place before the wash-stand.

“The first step, of course, for any proper morning routine…”

His sentence went uncompleted as he splashed his face with cold water; the water had been brought up by one of the servants some time prior to his awakening. As this task was completed, a sponge was selected from the implements taken from the drawer and used—along with a cake of soap, unscented—to complete the thorough wash. Once he was done, the young man dried his face off with a towel that was almost ridiculously soft.

“How wonderfully refreshing,” Jonah sighed airily, running a hand through his still-messy curls before picking up his razor. “A quick shave shall suffice for today.”

Nothing with him was ever quick when it came to appearances. By the time he was done shaving and had finally moved on to slicking back his hair, at least half an hour had passed. Long, slender fingers carved their way through thick brown hair, reflected in the looking glass just above an icy blue stare. Pursed lips turned up in a smug little smirk that played upon his countenance with no small amount of pleasure.

“...passable, for today,” Jonah muttered almost toyingly, blowing his reflection a kiss and laughing before turning back to his wardrobe. His suit was selected meticulously, as if any wrong choice would mean death; by the time he was fully dressed and ready for breakfast, it had been over an hour since he had awoken.

Every line on his figure was striking and straight. His silhouette was cutting and powerful; his suit was tailored of the finest silks available. As a whole, it was likely impossible for him to look any more attractive—he had reached the limits and smashed them.

Breakfast was a rather relaxed affair. Jonah settled himself at the table, and a tray of breakfast was set before him; he had a sip or two of red wine as he ate. The spread before him was rather vast, and the food had the best ingredients money could buy.

“Sir, I believe that the hat you ordered has arrived in town. Shall I fetch it?” the footman asked quietly.

“Mm, I think not,” Jonah shook his head, draining the last of his wine. “I shall. On foot, of course. A morning constitutional! What might other people think if they saw me driving a team into town, hmm?”

“...that...you are in possession of a significant sum of money?” the footman blinked.

“Ah, I do suppose you have a point.”

Jonah paused in his ramblings, pressing two fingers to his mouth. “Hitch the team. I shall drive into town.”

The bemused footman scurried off, leaving Magnus behind to enjoy a second breakfast pastry with no small amount of relish.

“After all, a drive would draw more attention. More eyes on me…”

He fiddled with one of the many rings he wore, running a finger over its eye motif and smirking. “Ah, yes. So many eyes...they shall all be jealous, jealous of me.”

His laughter was fickle and superficial as it echoed throughout the room, a rather unnerving sound.

~XXXXX~

“...and you could probably do with seeing a tailor, y’know.”

Elias, who had been drumming a pen on the edge of his desk, snapped to attention at this statement. Decades of practiced interaction allowed him to cover up his sudden reaction, but beneath the surface his blood had begun to boil.

“I’m sorry, what?”

His tone was frigid.

“Suit looks a little tight on you,” Tim shrugged, before turning and walking out of Bouchard’s office as if he hadn’t just made a damning comment about his boss’s appearance.

Jonah, within the body of Elias, was so angry he could practically see red. A cursory glance at the clock told him that it was a normal enough time in the day for him to take his leave; he stood up and began to gather his things, still fuming.

_We’ll take the body home and see just how much that boy wants to play with me!_

By the time Magnus’s estate was reached, Jonah was itching to prove Tim wrong. He practically threw the body upstairs in his haste to reach the full-length mirror that he’d had put in.

“He has no idea what he’s talking about, he—”

He froze, staring at the reflection of himself. Or, well, the reflection of Elias Bouchard’s body, which he was inhabiting.

“...was right?” he whispered, running a hand over the buttons of his suit—which were indeed a bit snug. Elias Bouchard had, in fact, put on a few kilograms.

Growling, Jonah pried himself from the physical form of Bouchard. As he separated, every physical change seemed to impart itself upon his ghostly figure as well; his hands became a bit softer, his face became more round, and his midsection seemed to thicken.

It wasn’t the world’s largest change, but to Jonah it was like a nightmare. Thoughts swirled in his mind, of the times where he had perhaps overdone it or been so wrapped up in the appearance of wealth that he had forgotten his physical appearance. He had started that particular day with a glass of wine; his mind reeled as he thought about all that had stacked up over the years.

_And, of course, a desk job. And I haven’t even considered the metabolic rates of the bodies I’ve chosen!_

“I’m—I’m ugly, gods above!”

The nearest free object, which happened to be a rather heavy book, crashed into the mirror and shattered it. Jonah’s howl of dismay could be heard as the sound echoed through the house, mingling with the crashing glass.


End file.
